


Living Both in Naples

by DaughterofProspero



Category: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, The Tempest - Shakespeare
Genre: Claustrophobia, Freedom, Homesickness, Italy, POV Third Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofProspero/pseuds/DaughterofProspero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where the bee sucks. there suck I:<br/>In a cowslip's bell I lie;<br/>There I couch when owls do cry.<br/>On the bat's back I do fly<br/>After summer merrily.<br/>Merrily, merrily shall I live now<br/>Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."</p><p>It has been 10 days since Miranda was brought to Naples and crowned Princess. Though her days are filled with excitement, sleep does not come easily as this land is home in name only; her heart still lies with the island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Both in Naples

For the third night in a row, Miranda can’t sleep. Her days exhaust her – in the best possible way, so much to learn! – but after her first week, sleep began to evade her. She’ll just be drifting off when a charge of anxiety shoots through her body. Her wide eyes fly open to the darkness of her room. Propping herself up with on arm, she warily surveys the bedchamber, seeing exactly what she expects. Nothing.

Lying back down, she focuses on the sound of Ferdinand’s light snoring beside her, breathing in time to his rumbling exhales. She is steadied by this and manages to doze, sinking into the quiet cocoon of dreamless slumber…and then suddenly there are walls looming over her. Thick, malevolent walls, rocketing upwards, too high, they block out the sun. She rotates wildly, searching for a way out but there is no escape. Sea foam oozes through the walls, filling the endlessly growing well. It’s at her feet, then her knees, her hips, her chest; immobilizing, smothering, she’s nearly submerged…

And she wakes up, with a sharp gasp and the comforter over her head. Struggling beneath the stifling duvet she breaks free in a panic to a startling absence of sound. Where are the rustling leaves, and the waves on the shore? Where are the chirping of frogs and the bird calls greeting morning? Where is the moonlight, where is the air? Where is she?

Ferdinand stirs and she remembers. She is the Princess of Naples now, in Italy, on a continent, not an island. She sleeps in a very secure bedroom in a _very_ comfortable bed, and instead of various fae friends, she has an endless array of servants to help her with the easiest things. It’s amazing, it’s wonderful.

Except for these past few nights when she feels like a ladybug in a jar in which someone forgot to put air holes.

Swinging her legs over the bed, she hovers briefly over her slippers and then decides they are not necessary, letting her stone-soled feet meet the cool floor. Deftly padding towards the door, she goes to open in but finds it stuck. She has a moment of terror – she’s trapped – then remembers the doors in Naples lock and she feels around for the metal latch. After a bit of fiddling, the door is open and she steps out into the dim hallway.

Momentarily disoriented by the long and symmetrical passageways, she makes to go left, then realizes that’s the wrong direction. Torches don’t guide the way like stars do. She walks right until she reaches a stairwell, goes down it, turns left, continues past a sitting room, a dining room, another sitting room, and a ballroom until she comes to a door that leads to the main courtyard.

Finding this one less of a challenge than her bedroom door, she savours the sudden burst of fresh air that greets her in a familiar embrace. Just as she steps outside, a gruff voice nearly sends her bolting for cover in surprise.

“Your highness?”

A guard. Of course there are guards, there are _always_ guards even in the middle of the night.

“Yes, I…” she scrambles to find authority. The guard waits expectantly. He can’t make her go back in, can he? She’s the princess! “I came to get some fresh air.” True, and to the point.

“At this hour?” He is incredulous, though not upset. As she does with all new faces, Miranda studies his intently, forever marvelling at each unique feature. His eyes are the colour of ebony wood – a little lighter than hers, but no less deep. They are sunken, slightly puffy, maybe because he’s up at night? His facial hair reminds her of a coconut – coarse, short, unkempt; a bristly beard and mustache. Even his eyebrows are a little wild. Nose like a tulip bulb, and mouth pressed thin with uncertainty.

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure I should…“ Clearly this was not covered in his training. The urge to protect vs. obey are dueling.

“Please!” The word is desperate, and comes out louder than Miranda intended; but suddenly she feels like a castaway again, drifting aimlessly in an endless ocean. “It’s so small in there. Sometimes it seems big, there are so many rooms, but you can’t see the sky at all! I can’t hear the wind, I can’t hear the birds, there’s only clocks ticking or footsteps sometimes and…I don’t _understand_ it yet, I love learning but I don’t want to lose what I know already! It’s…too _quiet_ and there are _so_ many _doors_ , there’s so many long, thin, hallways and I _know_ it’s where I live now but…I just…I miss the island…it’s…I miss my home.” Her voice catches. A tear dribbles soundlessly down the sun-baked planes of her face and over her upper lip. It tastes like the sea.

“It feels closer. When I’m outside. Please.”

The guard, still reeling from the barefoot princess’ non-sequitur entrance steps sympathetically (if not awkwardly) to the side.

“Um…okay.”

“Thank you!” Miranda has never been more sincere. Without wasting a second she darts off down the gravel path. The wind rushes past her tangling her mop of tamed hair and flying through the spaces between her fingers. There is a whiff of brine on the breeze and she sighs contentedly, coming to rest beside a hedge. The grass is soft and plush – well cared for. She wiggles her toes and lies down in it, facing skyward and running over the names of her friends the constellations. She shuts her eyes and let the early morning music fill her ears, savouring every note.

This is how the gardener finds her in the morning. Nightgown stained green, gravel clinging to her impenetrable soles, sleeping happily in the shade of a shrubbery.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on how ridiculously hard it would be to get uprooted and dropped into the middle of a totally foreign world. I don't think she'll be unhappy in time but in the beginning...there had to be some repercussions...  
> Man, I thought I was gonna be cranking out a lot for Much Ado stuff but I'm finding a surprising amount is tickling my fancy with The Tempest.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
